


Forty Winks

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Disney princess metaphors, F/M, Fluff, Sleepwalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-21
Updated: 2012-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-29 21:57:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Alright, Cinderella, it’s well past midnight,” he says, making a snatch at her arm and managing to catch enough wrist to anchor her. “Time to get you home with both shoes on before the stepsisters fuck everything up.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forty Winks

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this fanart: http://mirrorshards.tumblr.com/post/16224912960/rumminovs-dreamer-outfits-with-all-the

He manages to catch up to her just as she turns off of 4th Street, floating beneath one of the few streetlamps still on at this hour. It’s funny that they turn the streetlamps off at all, for what passes for daylight on Derse is barely discernible from night.

“Alright, Cinderella, it’s well past midnight,” he says, making a snatch at her arm and managing to catch enough wrist to anchor her. “Time to get you home with both shoes on before the stepsisters fuck everything up.”

Street traffic hasn’t picked up yet, so he leads her down the sidewalk, eyes peeled for alleyways to shield them should any agents be on watch. “For god’s sake, Lalonde, stop trying to pull away,” he tells her, glancing back at her furrowed brows and hunched shoulders. “I feel like I’m reeling a parade balloon into Herald Square. Happy Thanksgiving, Santa’s up next.” She resists for only a few more blocks, and then her arm goes slack, fists quietly unfurling in his grip. He’s confident enough to let go when they reach the back gate of the palace, but breaking the lock takes longer than expected, and when he turns around she’s already started again.

It’s a half-hearted getaway this time, and she must know it, for as soon as her left hand is clasped in his, she stops, bobbing gently like a kite on the wind. His eyes travel from the cuff of her sleeve to the crease of her collar, head turned toward wherever her dreaming feet want to run to.

He has asked where she’s going so many times, but he’s learned by now not to expect an answer.

Instead he asks, “Ready to hit the hay, Sleeping Beauty?” and steers her up the castle walls, clinging close to the stone to stay out of sight. The window isn’t tall enough to pull her straight through, so he carries her bride-style and shuffles onto the sill in a crouch, tucking her head close to his chest so she won’t hit the frame. As soon as they’re over the threshold, she becomes dead weight; somewhere, in the real world, Roxy Lalonde has woken up.

He tucks her in, making sure the pillows are wrinkle-free, as if she’s never gotten out of bed. A quick test of the doorknob proves that it’s still locked; she’s safe until Noir can build a big enough ladder to reach the window, and when that happens, he’ll be waiting underneath with an axe. He watches her for a few more minutes, just to make sure she’s truly asleep this time, and when her breathing is slow and deep enough, he turns to take his leave.

He’s already through the window again when he turns around at the sound of sheets rustling, but she’s still beneath the covers, rolled onto her left side. There’s a strand of hair in her eyes and for a moment, he considers going back just to brush it away.

The remaining streetlamps go dark as clock chimes to mark the Dersite dawn, and as he descends, he wishes her good morning.


End file.
